University of Virginia Library

13. XIII.

“A spell, whose power seemed to be irresistible,
prompted him in the direction which he took. A
will, superior to his own, yet compassing and controlling
it entirely, drove him onward to the abbey.
What proper motive had he there? None.

His duties were all elsewhere — with his wife —
in his own home. What could he gain to see
once more the dreadful spectre which had affrighted
him? An unholy curiosity stimulated the answer
to this question. Knowledge — Knowledge.
To know that which is forbidden — to win the secrets
of two worlds — was the hope of Carl, as it
has been the unwise hope of thousands. He did
not remember, while he indulged this vain desire,
that the `tree of knowledge, is not that of life;'
still less can it be said to be that of happiness.
Thought is not often happiness; and where thought
takes the wings of the imagination, and strives
ever after the ideal, it is too apt to be torture and
strife, as it must finally be death. Death, indeed
— death and time are the grand illuminators. To
wait is to be wise. Alas! for Carl — he had not
only to wait but to endure.

“`I must pluck up courage!' he mentally exclaimed.
`I demanded to see him; I must not
shrink from the encounter. Let him speak to me —
let him say he is happy — and I will ask no more.'

“What right had he to ask so much? Were
it his right, would it not be revealed? Would the
just God withhold from him a right? He did not
ask himself these questions, for Carl, like all of
his species, was but too apt to contemplate, through

the medium of a shallow vanity, the deity in his
own heart, as if the dwelling-place of fears and
feebleness, of vain caprices and false-founded passions,
could ever be the home of divinity.

“He entered the abbey walls — he trod among
the crumbling ruins, but his heart shook within
him. Again he sat upon the tomb-stone — again
did the sudden and sinuous light crawl before him
upon the walls. He felt the chill enter and curdle
the blood within his bosom, and he knew that the
spectre was sitting at his side. He dared not look
round upon him. He almost sank upon the
ground; but the resolve of his mind sustained him,
and he tried to compose himself.

“`Why should I fear?' he said in his thoughts.
`If it be Herman, he will not harm me — if it be
not Herman, what other has claim upon me!'

“As if the spectre had seen his heart, and in
this manner commented upon its fears and weakness,
the dreadful laugh which had so shocked him
before, was again repeated. The blood ran cold
in the bosom of the mortal, but his firmness had
not departed. The resolve was still in his mind,
and after a brief pause, in which he struggled successfully
with his terrors, he turned his eye boldly
to behold the spectre. The same dreadful presence
met his glance as on the preceding night. But the

novelty had passed away, and with it some of the
terrors. He felt that he could now survey it, distinctly,
resolutely, if not calmly. He did survey
it — and what a spectacle! The face was that of
his friend, that of Herman Ottfried, indeed; but,
oh! how different. It was the face of his brother
and his friend, but in place of the gentleness and
good nature that made its prevailing expression
heretofore, the features were all hell-stamped — the
skin was all hell-dyed and darkened. Carl nearly
fainted — his heart seemed to wither within him as
he gazed. But he continued to gaze. His resolve,
built upon high, but erring, moral purpose — was
not now to be shaken. Nor, indeed, could he do
otherwise than gaze. The eyes of the spectre,
like those of the fabled basilisk, rivetted his own.
The glare which shot from them, like a yellow vapor,
seemed to exercise upon him the power of a
spell. He gazed till he was infatuated; yet he
writhed all the while beneath the scornful malignity
of the spectre's glance.

“`What would you with me?' he screamed,
rather than spoke. He could easier scream than
speak; and the words were scarcely intelligible to
his own ears. He was once more answered by
that infernal laugh. He shivered as he heard it,
but it did not increase his terrors. It rather made
him indignant.

“`Who are you?' he cried, in tones more temperate,
and with a spirit even more resolved than
before. `Who are you? — what are you? I
know you not.'

“`Herman — thy friend — he for whose death
thou pray 'dst, that thou might 'st possess his
secret. Would'st thou not hear it?'

“Such was the terrifying response of the spectre
whom he had summoned.

“`Thou liest!' cried Carl, boldly. `I uttered
no such prayer.'

“`Thou did'st,' was the prompt reply, `in thy
heart thou did'st, and thy prayer is granted.
Herman Ottfried is no more — he is beside thee.'

“`I believe thee not!' was the courageous reply.
`My friend still lives; and if he did not, I
would not believe that such as thou seemest, and
art, should be his representative. He is good, and
thou —'

“`Art damned! — thou would'st say!' and the
spectre concluded his sentence — `And thou say'st
truly, Carl Werner. I am as thou say'st. Yet,
look once more upon these features, and, blasted
and blackened as they appear to thee, say if they
are not those of him who was thy friend — of him
who was Herman Ottfried.'

“`I believe thee not!' cried Carl, trembling
all over.

“`Thou shalt — thou dost believe me, Carl
Werner,' replied the spectre. `Thou know'st
that I am he. Did I not pledge myself to meet
thee — to tell thee all — to give thee intelligence
— to ease thy curiosity? I am come. I am ready.
Art thou willing — art thou prepared to hear?'

“`Not from thee — not from thee!' cried Carl,
in agony. `Away! leave me — trouble me not
with thy falsehoods. My friend is living — Herman
Ottfried, I know, still lives; and if he did not,
thou never couldst have been the spirit which filled
his frame, and gave impulse to his actions. He
had no malice such as glares from thine eyes — he
had no foul passions such as hang about thy lips.'

“`Thou reasonest like a child, Carl Werner.
Hear me and believe. The first truth is death —
the second judgment. Mortality is a state of
dreams and shows — presentments which impose
only on mortal senses. We throw off all disguises
for the first time, when we arrive at the first truth,
which we never know until death. We acquire
all truth when we reach the higher form of judgment.
In death, we know for the first time what
we are and have been — in judgment, we know
what we shall be.'

“`Then thou canst tell me nothing,' said Carl,
fearlessly — yet trembling all the while.

“`Yes — I can tell thee what I am!' exclaimed
the spectre in reply; but it needed no words to
unfold that which was but too clearly discernible in
the blasted and blasting expression of his countenance
as he thus replied. Carl saw this expression,
and the shudder that shook his frame
sufficiently apprized the spectre that it was unnecessary
for him to relate that which the quick imagination
of Carl so readily conceived. He grinned
fearfully as he witnessed the tremblings of his
mortal companion, and the malicious and hateful
expression re-aroused the courage of the youth.

“`Yet, though I cannot but see that thou art
one of the damned and blasted of heaven — one of
the thrice blasted perchance —.'

“`Thou art right!' exclaimed the spectre, while
lurid fires of a hellish agony seemed to kindle in,
and to dart forth from his eye — `thou art right; I
am indeed, one of the thrice — ay, one of the seventy
times seventy times damned of the Eternal;
and I defy him amid all his fires.'

“He paused as he spoke these words, and his
clenched hands were lifted in air, and thrust upwards,
as if he would do battle even at that moment
with the deity. Carl shuddered and shrunk
from the fearful presence; but his soul grew

strengthened within him in due proportion to the
revoltings which he felt at such foul blasphemy.

“I believe thee!' he exclaimed, and his own
clasped hands were raised in prayer while he continued
— `I believe thee; but I believe not that
thou art Herman Ottfried — it is impossible — I
believe not that he is dead.'

“`Thou shalt have confirmation to-morrow.
His blood was upon thee yesterday — his shadow
is before thee now. Dost thou not believe me —
wilt not thou hear some of the secrets which thou
didst once so desire to know. Where is thy curiosity
— where is thy thirst, Carl, after knowledge?
Has thy marriage changed thy nature, and art
thou willing to be the mere cur of the household,
and forego that noble ambition which made thee
seek after wisdom, as if it were life — as if it
were more than life to thee — as if it were happiness?
Is it happiness to thee no longer? Is thy
sense dulled for its enjoyment? Go to, Carl, I
had not thought this of thee. Go to thy wife —
get from her the needle and the net-work, and find
in her example thy fitting employment. Thou
hast not the soul for my secret — thou wouldst fear
to hear it.'

“`Fiend — foul fiend, and bitter devil!' cried
the fierce Carl, provoked by the taunting of the

spectre beside him — `I fear thee not, though I
would not have thy secret. I hold thee to be a
cheat, and thou but slanderest the noble spirit of
my friend. Have at thy throat, monster, in the
name of heaven and its blessed ministers. Have
at thy throat! and let the great God of the heavens
and the earth determine between us.'

“`Ha, ha, ha!' was the only response of the
spectre as Carl uttered these words. The replication
of the crumbling walls to the infernal laugh
was tremendous; but it did not shake the desperate
courage of Carl Werner. He sprang upon
his glowering and grinning enemy, with outstretched
arms and fingers, and he aimed to clutch
the fearful image — not a whit alarmed at the increasing
fiendishness of its aspect — by the throat;
but the object melted in his embrace, at the moment
when it seemed most secure. His arms
grasped his own body; and, stunned with confused
thoughts and defeated passion, the unhappy
Carl gazed around him in a stupor, which was
not at all diminished as he found himself alone.